


The Basement (Where he met you but you never met him)

by Sincerelywithlove



Series: Here's to the Heartache [1]
Category: One Direction
Genre: Drug Addiction, Fate, Hallucinations, Hurt and comfort, Insanity, M/M, Triggers, Withdrawal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-03
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2017-12-22 06:53:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/910234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sincerelywithlove/pseuds/Sincerelywithlove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An accident led to an addiction that's long sense drowned Louis out of his mind. Niall, Liam, and Zayn are Lou's closest friends and when they lock Louis in his basement, it's really only for his own good.</p><p>A fanfiction in which Louis' afraid of pain and Harry isn't real.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I'm Not an Addict

**Author's Note:**

> for updates and other fics follow: thatkaitykid.tumblr.com x

**_Louis_ **

He hasn't left his house,  _not home_ , in a week. At least, that's what he thinks. Why leave though? What's the good in that? If he's honest, he'll admit he's  _afraid_ , but he isn't sure when the last time he was honest was. So, he  _isn't_  frightened by the things outside his front door, or by the insistent tapping on the bedroom window sill that he will swear he hears each night. He most certainly isn't staying in the living room arm chair because of either thing either, and so what if he was?  
  
His skin is  _crawling_ , he's sure it is. He's also sure that whatever taps at his window sill has most likely found its way beneath his skin making it crawl in such a manner. He won't admit, at least aloud, that he's the one who let it beneath there.   
  
It really isn't his fault though, he doesn't think it is anyway. It's that man's fault, the one who came in that same window in his bedroom and ruined everything for him.   
  
"You're doing so well! I'm so proud of you, Lou," he says to himself as he slides his fingers into his fringe. He idly, if even  _consciously_ , wonders when it was that he last showered. "You're right on track to graduate! My baby's going to be a playwright, an actor even!" he continues as a sticky grin spreads across his lips. He doesn't miss his mum, he really doesn't. He isn't losing his mind. He's going to be the same success she always thought he would be,  _he really is_. Whether she came to see him at the hospital or not doesn't matter to him. He would much rather pretend she hadn't anyway, not that he would admit such a thing.  
  
"Damaged," he says bitingly with a wave of his index finger in the direction of the couch. "Never going to be anything but a waste of money," there are tears forming in his eyes but he doesn't notice. A shaking laugh bubbles in his chest as he tips his head back.   
  
He pulls lazily at his sleeves before running his hands over the lengths of his arms. He can feel the marks, the tracks of things he can't stop and he traces them like he's playing connect the dots.  
  
The sun is still struggling to reach its high point in the sky as its rays stream through the cracks in his drapes. His arm chair is positioned just out of the light's reach. The light is what woke him up that night, maybe it wasn't the sun but it was light all the same.  
  
"Don't," he trembles. His arms are heavy now, fallen into their places on the arms of the chair. He can feel the wounds, he's sure they're fresh again, on his chest.  _Seven_ , he thinks. "I haven't got any money, but you can take anything you want," he shouts to the shadow of his bedroom door. He knows blood is soaking the fabric of his t-shirt, it has to be or it doesn't have to, he isn't sure. "Bang," he whispers as he cowers back into the arm chair.   
  
 _Eight._  
  
The tears are dripping down his cheeks now and plunging from his chin as he shoves himself off of the arm chair. "No, no, no..." he's mumbling as he stumbles over his own feet. He digs through his kitchen drawers until he finds what he needs. His fingers are trembling as he sets the small glass bottle of clear liquid onto his counter. His other hand grasps numbly at a syringe.   
  
His front door knob is clicking and he's beginning to panic. He can't think, he can't. At least, he can't think to relive those moments. He can't relive  _that_  pain.   
  
 _Eight shots._  "Bang," he whispers again as the front door opens and he tries to maneuver the syringe's needle into the opening of the small bottle. He just needs a little relief, a little numbing, because it  _still hurts_. The ache is still there. It still burns his flesh.   
  
"Louis!" the syringe is snatched from his fingers and he's full on sobbing now. His friends have shown up, the three that don't seem to understand his attempts to get them to leave him alone.  
  
He tries to get it back from Liam, he really does. He even attempts to reach for the bottle that was taken from him only moments after by Zayn. "It hurts," he cries. "It hurts so much!" he shouts at them as he slides to the floor with his back to the cabinets. His friends should _know_ , they should  _understand_  that he just wants to stop the pain.  
  
"Louis," Niall speaks softly as he squats down to his level. His pale blue eyes are clear and gentle. "You're okay, mate. No one's here to hurt you," Niall continues as his hands rest on top of Louis' knees.  
  
He's trying to listen, he really is, but he's still thinking and the blond tufts of hair splayed across his friend's face are placed differently today.   
  
"I told you we should have stayed," Zayn is saying to Liam as Niall tugs Louis' shirt over his head.  
  
"See? Just scars, no pain," Niall tells him with a point to his bare chest.   
  
He tilts his head down to examine the brown lines marring his skin. "No pain," he repeats quietly as his tears begin to lessen.  
  
Niall nods with a weary smile, "You do smell like shit though, Lou. Let's get you to the shower, yeah?"   
  
Liam and Zayn have moved over to his sink. He tries not to be angered when he sees his bottle being dumped down the drain as Niall leads him to his bathroom.   
  
"I'll sit right here, yeah? I'll guard the door," Niall tells him before sitting on the toilet lid.   
  
He strips down behind the shower curtain and turns on the spray. He doesn't mind the cold much, it's calming and it soothes the ache in his chest for the moment. His fingers quake as he rakes shampoo through his dirty hair.   
  
His head is spinning, _it has been for days_. The shadows in his shower's tiled corners are staring him down,  _they have been since he left the hospital._  "Niall," he begins as his fingers stop moving.   
  
"Yes, Lou?" his friend says from the other side of the curtain.  
  
He tries to piece the words together properly, but how can he admit he's afraid of the light and haunted by the dark? "What day is it?" is what he manages instead.  
  
"Today is Wednesday, Lou," Niall replies after a small moment.  
  
When his friend doesn't say anything else he begins to rinse the shampoo from his hair before replacing it with conditioner. "What did you do today?" he asks quietly.  _It's strange_ , he thinks,  _for you to be so silent._  When did everything become so quiet?  
  
There's another small pause between when he asks and when Niall responds, "I went to work today."  
  
He laughs dryly because he's still normal, or at least he tries to be, "Sucks doesn't it?"  
  
There's no laugh of agreement on the other side of his curtain, just more silence.   
  
He bites at his lip and scrubs at his skin until it burns before rinsing the remnants of conditioner from his hair. "Could you grab me a towel then..?" he holds his hand through the shower curtain and does his best to not look like he's about to fall into a seizure.  
  
"I'm going to get you some fresh clothes, alright? I'll be right back," Niall tells him as he hands over a towel. The door is clicking open and closed before Louis can beg him to stay.   
  
He clambers out of the shower and dries himself off in front of the mirror. He isn't really sure who's looking back at him in the mirror but he's almost sure that it isn't himself. "You look like shit," he tells the image as he examines the dark circles beneath its eyes. How long would someone have to stay awake to look like that? He pokes at the glass around the image's thin torso. He loves food too much to even imagine how many meals someone would have to skip to look even remotely like that. Then, he wonders when it was last that he really did eat.  
  
There's a soft knock,  _not tap_ , at his bathroom door before Niall reappears, "Here, Lou. I'll be in the living room with Zayn and Liam, okay?"  
  
He nods his head and lets his hair drip over his face as Niall shuts him in the bathroom again. When he dresses, he avoids making eye contact with the weary figure in the mirror.  
  
"I... I just... It was just this  _once,_ " he rambles as he emerges from the bathroom to wander into the living room. "I haven't done it since you were here last week..." he continues as he crawls back into his arm chair.  
  
The three other boys are situated on the couch. "Louis, we haven't been over here in three weeks," Liam mumbles out after long stretch of silence.   
  
"Three weeks...?" he repeats in disbelief. He lifts his eyes to his friends. _Three weeks._  He hasn't left his house in three weeks? "Has it really been that long?" he lets out a dry laugh and tries to stop the trembling of his hands by bracing them beneath his thighs.   
  
Zayn shifts in his seat bringing his hands to rest on his lap, "Louis, you've got to stop this. Can you not see that you're killing yourself?"   
  
He tries to stifle his laugh, he really does, because he's probably the smallest danger to himself even in this very room, "I'm fine, just a little disorganized, but fine all the same. I've just lost track of time is all."  
  
"You're going to get clean, Lou. We're staying here until you do," Liam avoids his excuses firmly as he stands from the couch.   
  
"Clean?" he can feel the crawling beneath his skin beginning to bubble because that  _isn't fair_. He's fine, what don't they get about that? So, he scoffs, "Quit being a self righteous fuck. I don't have any reason to get clean because I'm not... I don't have a problem." It's when Liam grabs a hold of his wrist though that the crawling boils over. When he swings at Liam's face with his free hand it's really only to get his point across. The second time he swings and hits a bit lower on Liam's jaw it's because his friend wont let go.   
  
"Lou!" Zayn grabs onto his other wrist then. The two drag him from the living room and toward his basement door while Niall stands by to make sure he wont try to kick the door shut.  
  
Bewildered tears slip down his cheeks as he struggles. "Niall, make them let go! Tell them I'm fine!" he cries out desperately as Niall turns his head to avoid his gaze. The other two let him go as soon as his body is passed the frame and the door slams shut soon after. He hits his fists against the wood as the sound of the lock sliding shut rings in his ears like sirens. "Let me out you fucking bastards!" he shouts but it's half hearted and weak.   
  
"It's for your own good," Liam tries to inform him through the small crack in the door. The sound of rubber soles hitting his wood flooring follows shortly after. They're heading away from him and he can't breathe.   
  
"Let me out please..." he sobs as he leans back against the door and slides down until his legs are hanging over the steps. His breaths come out in short huffs and his head is spinning amongst the dim lighting. He grasps weakly at the jean fabric covering his knees to just get a hold on something that is still _tangible_  and that still  _makes sense_. His vision blurs over as he tries to form some sort of plea that would convince his friends to let him out. They couldn't do this to him. "Don't leave me alone..." he whimpers blindly.   
  
Silence is their only response.  
  
He thinks he's maybe never been in so much pain in his life.  
  
"Please..." he repeats the word over and over as if the five letters alone will some how maneuver the lock out of its slot. He surveys the basement from his perch on the top of the staircase with watery eyes after a good thirty minutes. It's the same dreary floor plan that he's always known with no windows, a few hanging lightbulbs, a washer and dryer in one corner, and a dusty bookcase in another. He notices vaguely after a few shallow gasps that one of his friends has haphazardly thrown his duvet and pillow at the bottom of the steps. How long did they plan on keeping him in here?  
  
"I'll call the police!" he shouts at the door. His voice verges on cracking with the volume strain.  
  
There's a short period of silence before Niall speaks, "I have your phone, Lou..."   
  
He stalls at that because  _when_  did he - it clicks though. Niall took his phone when he was in the shower. "You... You fucking prick!" he exclaims in exasperation. "You of all fucking people! How could you! I thought that you of all people would understand my situation! Why are you doing this to me, Niall? You're just like those two, aren't you? Some fucking best friend you are. Probably were just on their side the whole time, weren't you? You think I'm damaged too, don't you? I fucking hate you all, but especially  _you,_  Niall Horan. You probably knew about this whole plan, didn't you? Why don't you go back to your pathetic job, that job that I helped you get in the first place. Why don't you go back to the fucking flat that I paid for, for the first few months? Go back to your shit life that  _I_  built for you. I don't fucking want you around ever again. You could fucking burn in hell for all I care," he's spitting the words like they'll change everything because he's fired up and ruffled. He isn't sure he means any of them or if they even came from his own lips but they're out now. He's only mildly disgusted with the satisfaction he feels when he hears Niall's muffled crying and the click of shoes coming back toward the door.   
  
"You fucking shut up, Tomlinson," he's really only a little surprised that Zayn is the one to approach.  
  
He tilts his head back against the door, "Should I even start on you, Zayn?" The grip he has on his knees tightens as he inhales. If he can upset them enough then maybe they'll let him out and give up on him. "It's a bit hypocritical of _you_ to do this to me, don't you think? You, the one who goes through a pack or two a day, are trying to change me? Aren't you the one that got in that drunk driving accident last year too? Nearly killed yourself because you drove into a tollbooth, right?" he laughs bitingly as Zayn remains still on the other side of the door. "Now, remind me because my memory is a bit hazed as I'm sure you know, who was the one who came to stay with you at the hospital? Paid for the property damages? Handled the authorities?" he's a little surprised that he's able to form these sentences.  
  
"I never asked for anything from you, Louis," Zayn points after a moment.  
  
Louis has to really grip his jeans to keep himself from falling into a laughing fit, "And I asked for this from you?"  
  
"Look, we're just trying to help you, Lou. Say whatever you want but we're not going to let you out. My mistakes are my own and I own up to them. The day that you realize just how fucked up you are is the day that we will consider letting you out. I've got scars just like you do, from different things but they're scars all the same. I can't change the things that caused mine, and you can't either but you can change how you're reacting to yours," Zayn breathes the words with weight. "You may not have died that day but you were close and you're only dragging yourself back to your half dug grave like this. You were by my death bed until I decided to stop dying, and Lou I'll be right by yours until you make that same decision," Zayn finishes softly before his shoes are leading him away again.  
  
He sits in silence after that. The words of his friend buzz in the air around him like static, shocking his skin and raising the hairs on the back of his neck. He counts the seconds that pass him by like the time might change his situation. When he hears the occasional shuffling or murmuring he stops and starts over because his thoughts are falling everywhere like broken puzzle pieces and the interruptions are tearing his processes apart.   
  
By the time he reaches three thousand and six hundred seconds, for the fifth time, he's decided to move down to his duvet. He buries himself beneath the worn fabric and tries to pull himself together. He'll out last them if he has to; he can wait till they break and give up. He just needs to keep himself together. So, he closes his eyes and counts the seconds that tick by like cold syrup until the shallow race of his breathing drags him under. He's vaguely aware that he has yet to count beyond the three thousand and six hundred seconds mark for the  _seventh_  time.


	2. Maybe That's a Lie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this took fucking forever now, didn't it?

**_Louis_ **

He's sure he's losing his mind now because there is most definitely a boy sitting on his washing machine kicking his ridiculously long legs and grinning sadly right back at him when he wakes up. All Louis can think is that maybe this angel has finally come to take him to hell as he backs up to the basement stairs. "Niall! Please let me out! Let me out there's a man down here!" he exclaims with shaking shouts up the wooden steps. His hands are blindly searching for the handrails as his heel bumps into the bottom step. He wants to turn and run but knows he can't. Louis' seen one too many horror films to know well enough that he wont get away, the fact that he really can't see straight either wouldn't really help him much. He backs up the steps once hes got a nervous grip on the wobbly railing and he's keeping his stare level with the boy's. "Zayn!" he tries again desperately hoping that one of them might hear him, they surely wouldn't let him die down here.   
  
"We're not letting you out, Louis," Liam finally calls through the bolted basement door just as Louis manages to reach it.   
  
Louis' hand trembles over the door knob because _no_ , no this can't be happening. The boys were just joking with him, they would let him out, he was in danger and surely they understood that. "Liam, please..." he begs as his lip quivers and sweat begins to line his hair. "He's in here I swear..."  
  
"I'm sorry, Lou... I can't..." Liam says back and the volume of his voice dissipates as he goes. _He's walking away,_ Louis thinks, _he's leaving me to die._  
  
He tries the knob desperately as he continues to watch the boy, it twists in his grasp but it doesn't let the door budge from the frame. "Please, Liam... I'm not lying! I'm not! There's a boy in here!" Louis pleads with his voice cracking near the edges. He can't do this, not again.  
  
The boy stares back at him with his head tilted to the side and his curls falling over his face. His large hands are resting on the rounded edges of the washing machine and his shoulders are slouched a little.  "I wont hurt you," he says quietly just above Louis' panic.  
  
Louis stills, well if one would call his attempts at not shaking still. "Liam, open the door..." he tries, his voice just above a whisper. He knows that Liam's gone but he needs to be out now, he doesn't care what this boy says.   
  
The boy shifts back on the top of the washing machine, bringing his legs up beneath himself as he crosses them.   
  
"What do you want with me...?" Louis questions weakly, his hand is still holding tightly to the door knob. _God just give me a chance,_ he sends a prayer to someone he's sure stopped listening to him long ago, _I'll be better just give me another chance._  
  
A smile spreads across the boy's pink lips then, "Praying?"  
  
Louis' eyes widen, because he was sure he didn't say that out loud. "Who are you...?" he asks brokenly.   
  
The boy tilts his head in consideration of his question as if he actually has to think about the answer. "Who am I?" he parrots back as his stare, _green_ , Louis realizes, shifts to the ceiling.   
  
His grip on the door knob gives way as he glances around the basment vaguely wondering how the boy could have gotten inside. He tries not to focus too hard on the thought that he would have had to come in through the basement door to even access the area, meaning he would have been wandering through Louis' home.   
  
"Harry," the boy finally says as he moves his large hands to his knees and lets his shoulders relax further.  
  
Louis wants to ask again what the boy, _Harry_ , wants with him. "How did you get in here...?" is what he manages instead.  
  
The boy shrugs his shoulders briefly letting his gaze land back on Louis, "Dunno."  
  
_Dunno._ Louis shifts wearily and leans back against the closed door. "What are you doing in my basement, Harry?" he tries again, an answer or any kind of explaination would be a slight relief.  
  
"Dunno," Harry repeats. "What are you doing in your basement?"  
  
A sigh falls from his lips as he lets his shoulders slump and he side steps his question, "I haven't got any money, you know?"  
  
"I know," Harry says plainly as he tilts his head to the other side.  
  
Louis tries not to think about how Harry knows that bit of information over everything else.   
  
Harry's stare levels with Louis' as he slides off of the washing machine. His shoes are leather from what Louis can tell and dark in the dim lighting as the soles hit the floor lightly. He wanders slowly like his speech, as he finds his way over to the bookshelves with his broad back to Louis.  
  
"How long have you been down here?" Louis wonders aloud as he hesitantly begins walking down the creaking wooden steps.  
  
He doesn't glance in Louis' direction then, his slender fingers are touching the spines of dusty books as he speaks, "How long have you been down here?"  
  
Louis' getting tired of this. "Since yesterday around noon," he answers.  
  
Harry seems to consider this for a moment as his index finger hovers over what Louis thinks to be his worn copy of _Lolita_. "Since this morning then," he finally says.  
  
"You wont hurt me...?" Louis relents as his feet touch the fourth step from the top.   
  
"Why are you so worried about feeling pain?" Harry asks as he turns his head to look at Louis over his shoulder. His expression is soft and curious.  
  
Louis doesn't know what to say. So, he stays silent and grips for the blanket at the bottom of the steps and wraps it tightly around himself. It's too cold down here, it really is. He can feel the chill seeping deep into his bones and trembling through his skin. For a moment, Louis ducks his chin and sits quietly. The scars etched into his skin are beginning to burn and nausea is starting to constrict his lungs. He needs to get out of here. 

"You're breathing pretty fast there..." Harry begins as he turns back toward Louis from the bookcase. "Are you okay?"

Gripping at his chest, Louis wheezes into his blanket, "It hurts... It hurts, Harry, I can't breathe-" He can't, he really can't. His skin is ripping open on his chest again, he can feel it. He can feel the cold metal of bullets pouring into his skin. He needs to get out. Get out. _GET OUT._ "You have to help me...!" there are tears dripping over his cheeks again. He needs his medicine, he  _does_. How could his friends do this to him? 

Harry merely watches him for a moment before he kneels down on the step in front of Louis, "Hey..." 

"Niall, let me out please...! Please, Niall...! I'm so sorry... It hurts...! Please..." he heaves, feeling the crimson seeping through his fingers. He can't do this, he can't.

"Look at me," Harry says gently, softly pulling Louis' fingers away from his chest. "Look at me, okay? I'm going to help you..."

Louis lifts his eyes to Harry's face and grips Harry's fingers with all the might that his shaking fingers can manage. "H...Help me..." he hiccups weakly.

"Yeah, help you..." Harry repeats firmly holding Louis fingers. "I want you to tell me what hurts, okay...? Take a deep breath with me..."

Hauling in a breath that burns his lungs, Louis tries to follow along with the curly haired boy's inhales and exhales, "M--My chest..."

"Your chest?" Harry repeats as he slowly releases Louis' quaking hands. "I'm gonna take a look, okay?" he glances at Louis' face before gently lifting Louis' t-shirt. He's quiet as he peers at the skin that Louis is so sure is bleeding again.

 _So much blood,_ Louis wheezes as he tries to stay still for Harry. He can feel the warm liquid dripping down and soaking the edges of his pants, he's so sure it's there.  _It has to be._ "I-It's really bad, Harry... E-Eight times..." he rambles frantically. He doesn't know this boy, the one with the green eyes like the leaves of oak trees of a place he can't remember, but he's here and he's staying. He's not telling Louis that it isn't real, that it doesn't hurt.

"I can see that," Harry nods softly, his voice slow and calming to Louis' ears. "I'm going to clean it up so it will hurt less, okay? Just keep breathing like that..." he murmurs.

"Y-You can't... I-I need my medicine..." Louis begs because Harry might not understand as much as he hoped. The pain swells and his vision fades to a dim blur, just swirls of green and brown and soft skin. "P-Please..."

A cold hand presses firmly but gently, always gently, against Louis' chest. Harry's eyes never leave Louis' face and he's quiet,  _so quiet._ The pain begins to ebb and slip away. When Louis blinks to clear his vision, he finds tears welling on the brims of Harry's dark eyelashes and that there isn't even the slightest ache in his chest anymore. He sucks in a long breath and for the first time in days,  _it's been months_ , his lungs cooperate easily. "H-Harry..." he whispers.

The boy weakly moves his hand away from Louis' chest and sits back on his haunches as the tears begin to spill down his cheeks. "I-It does hurt..." Harry eventually whimpers as his face scrunches just a little. "B-But it's okay," he continues as Louis scrambles to reach out for him, "I think this is why I'm here..." He looks much older now, less like a mischievous teenager, and more like a worn down young man. His soft cheeks are a little hollower, shadowed with an ache that isn't his own, and his broad shoulders slumped with a weight that can only belong to Louis.

"W-What are you?" Louis finds himself asking as Harry backs away from his touch. 

"Just Harry," the boy squeezes his eyes shut and he laughs wetly. There's something about him that Louis recognizes now, although he's not sure how. Harry's eyelashes flutter against his cheeks and when he opens his eyes they're dazed,  _lost._ "Do you feel better?" he asks weakly, airily, so different from the teasing boy who kicked his feet against Louis' washing machine only moments ago,  _the air is cooler_ , it must be night now even though it was only just morning,  _wasn't it?_

Nodding just a little, Louis watches the younger boy, follows each fidgety movement like he knows it himself. And, he does, he realizes. He knows the dizzy way that Harry holds himself, the tremble of each of Harry's slender fingers, and the faint panic swimming in Harry's eyes. He saw it all just the other day as he looked in the mirror wondering when he stopped looking like himself and more like someone that he might have seen in passing.

"Why does it hurt so much?" Harry asks, his green eyes drifting away to focus,  _unfocus,_ on something else in the basement. "Why does it hurt?" he draws little circles over his own chest, mirroring where the scars hide on Louis'. The tip of his finger rests on his heart and Louis struggles to understand because that isn't where it hurts, but Louis doesn't know this boy, doesn't know anything about him other than that he's here because he took the ache from Louis.

And Louis doesn't want to think about the  _why_ because it just might bring the pain back,  _it will, surely._ He isn't sure that he could stop Harry from taking more of the ache away, if Harry could handle more of it. "T-There was a light..." he starts just barely above a whisper, yet Harry seems to hear him all the same. "I had just gone to sleep because I had exams in the morning and a light woke me up... Just a sliver of light that I almost ignored..." his fingers begin to shake and then, Harry is there.

"It must have been bright," Harry murmurs as he squeezes Louis' hands until they still. He squints a little like he might see the light himself.

"It was... I couldn't see anything for a moment after it shut off... It was just flashes of blue and red and purple... T-Then, there was this tapping..." Louis shudders and Harry squeezes his hands tighter. "It was really loud..." he can hear the sound still but then it's gone and Harry's eyes are wide.

 _Fear_ , Louis realizes is what Harry is looking at him with and for a moment, he doesn't feel it himself, doesn't feel anything at all. "I closed my eyes for a minute to try and get the sound to stop... It didn't, and when I opened my eyes again... There was a man there. I couldn't see his face, there were too many shadows..." Louis continues faintly.

Harry pulls away then, panic clear in his expression as tears slip down his cheeks again. He sits on the basement floor and pulls Louis' duvet around himself, "I'm tired, Louis..."

Falling into silence, Louis pushes up from the stairs and seats himself by Harry, curling beneath the duvet. He settles himself down with his head propped up on the pillow, when Harry does the same, he tugs the duvet up to their chins. Beside him, Harry trembles and cries in pain that he knows by heart, feels with the slightest pulse through his veins. 

"Mum thinks I'm damaged," Harry whimpers, his stare stuck somewhere on the exposed floorboards above their heads. "I don't understand."

Shaking his head, Louis curls up to Harry's side because  _no, that's not you._ "She thinks I'm damaged, Harry... Not you..." he quietly tells Harry's curls. 

"Why does she think that? Y-You didn't do anything..." Harry turns his eyes to Louis. The green is pale now, just a faded photo of the gleeful vibrance it once was. 

Faintly,  _consciously,_ Louis wonders if his own look that way.  _I used to be so happy._ Tears well in his eyes and he blinks harshly, doesn't let Harry touch him to take it away because he's killing this stranger, this boy who's done nothing more than want to help him. "I... I am damaged, Harry," he hears himself say.

"You're not," Harry insists. "Y-You're smart and driven... I've seen the books. You're going to be someone," he reaches out to set his hand on Louis' chest before Louis pulls the duvet down between them.

"I  _was_..." Louis' mouth forms a hard line and the pain in his chest feels different, doesn't paint his skin crimson. "I'm a mess..." he continues weakly and here with just Harry to hear him, it feels safe to say. He doesn't feel like he owes the words to Harry, doesn't feel like he has to apologize for who he is anymore, or that he has to deny it because Harry  _knows_ , he can feel it too.

Pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, Harry moves his stare away from Louis, "It isn't your fault... The light... The man... None of it..."

"No," Louis agrees tiredly. He thinks of what Zayn yelled at him, of how his own reaction is what has made him damaged. He thinks he isn't ready to share that with Harry so he closes his eyes and counts the seconds that pass, the breaths that Harry shudders out, and the tears that he feels on his cheeks. As he falls asleep, he thinks about the numbers, how they don't make sense to him, and how he realizes they never will.

When Louis wakes up, he's shaking and sweating so badly that his clothes stick to his skin. He shuffles up to his knees but his head is rushing and he can't breathe,  _he can't._ His lungs heave but nothing comes in or out. Nausea swims through his chest and bubbles in his throat. 

"Louis?" Harry's voice weaves it's way through Louis' panic but does nothing to calm him. He looks better today, the hollows of his cheeks filled out and his green eyes clear, bright despite the dim lights. 

"I-I can't..." Louis wheezes shakily. His stomach lurches but he covers his mouth and swallows hard. 

A cold hand rests on Louis back just beneath his shirt, and he inhales sharply through the queasiness. The feeling slowly begins to fade and he huffs through his breathing like it's his first time swallowing the air. "H-Harry, stop..." he stammers but the hand disappears from his skin.

"I-I'm sorry, Louis..." Harry pulls away and wretches in an empty laundry basket. The muscles beneath his skin jump and pull tight as he heaves, pathetically trying to hold himself upright.

The door at the top of the stairs creaks open quietly and a long shadow spreads down the steps to where Louis kneels hunched over on his knees. "Lou?" Niall calls softly and there's another shadow alongside the blonde's. 

 _Zayn or Liam_ , Louis isn't sure so he looks back to Harry to make sure he's okay, but the curly haired boy is gone. 

"I brought you some water," Niall explains as he starts to walk down the steps. 

 _He's afraid,_ Louis thinks and rightfully so. He's not sure what he said to the blonde, can't remember the moment clearly, but trying to think about it leaves a sour taste in his mouth that isn't vomit. 

"Leave it on the steps, Ni," the other shadow instructs before pulling Niall back toward the door.

_Zayn._

"Did the man go away?" Niall asks hesitantly as he sets the water pitcher on the top step.

And Louis isn't sure why Niall is asking, why he still bothers to care. "No," he finally replies as he looks around for where Harry might have gone.

"There isn't anyone down here," Niall tries to assure him and his voice is tired,  _sad._ "You're safe, Lou..." he insists.

"Come on," Zayn urges Niall out of the room when Louis doesn't find any words to say. The door closes shortly after and the lock slides into place.

Weakly, Louis wipes some of the dampness from his skin with a clammy hand and sits back on his wobbly legs. "Harry...?" he asks the shadows of the basement before the missing boy stumbles out from beneath the staircase. 

The dark curls on Harry's head are twisted and sticking to his pale face as he stands before Louis. Every breath that escapes him is haggard and strained, hardly enough to keep him upright. "The shadows..." he murmurs. "I had to hide cause the shadows..."

 _I wasn't scared_ , Louis thinks as he watches Harry fall weakly to his knees. "Those were my..." he hesitates. "That was Niall and Zayn..."

"Friends..." Harry visibly relaxes but the color doesn't return to his face. He runs his fingers through his hair and pushes the damp curls away from his clouded eyes. 

For a moment, Louis wonders how he can comfort someone who he can't touch. He feels helpless as he pushes up on his unstable legs and fetches the water pitcher and glass from the top of the stairs. He carefully pours some into the glass and pushes it across the floor to Harry. 

"Why do I feel this way, Louis?" Harry mumbles hazily as he brings the water to his lips. He takes a long drink, his head tilted back to expose the long column of his throat as he swallows. 

"When the man came in through the window..." Louis starts, bringing his focus on the palms of his hands. There are track marks marring the veins along his wrists and trailing up to where his sleeves hide the rest of his mistakes. "I tried to defend myself... The man wouldn't say what he wanted or why he was there... He just pulled his gun on me..."

Unable to keep all of himself upright, Harry hangs his head. His low stare is on Louis' hands but he doesn't look upset, or angry, he doesn't judge. He looks fascinated almost. He reaches out to touch the marks but Louis pulls away, covers his hands with his sleeves. 

"He pulled the trigger eight times..." Louis softly continues. "I was in shock... Barely conscious but my neighbor called the police and the man disappeared."

"The shadow..." Harry says in a daze. His eyes are empty when they lift to Louis' face. 

 _I couldn't breathe,_ Louis doesn't say.  _I felt like I was drowning and I still do._ "I barely survived..." he goes on. "At the hospital... That was when mum said I was damaged. She hasn't talked to me since... I don't think... I don't know," he admits.

Touching a hand to his own chest, Harry traces where the scars would be like he had the day before.  _Was it yesterday?_  

"They gave me morphine at the hospital and hydrocodone when I left... I shut myself in this house..." he wraps his arms around his knees, wonders when they began to feel so fragile. "I stopped answering calls, stopped seeing the people that I was friends with... The pills ran out and I started looking for other things because I was scared..."

"Cause the pain wouldn't go away...?" Harry asks, his voice just a faint whisper.

For a moment, Louis is silent. "No matter what I did, it wouldn't go away..." he agrees. "Liam and Zayn tried to get me to go to counseling, support groups, and the like... But, I couldn't leave the house. There was so much pain inside this house but I was so scared there was more outside of it."

"Is there...?" Harry questions fearfully. 

 _I don't know_ , Louis thinks and maybe that's the worst thing about it, what makes it so challenging to explain to anyone who doesn't feel it too. "These..." he moves away from the question hesitantly as he pulls up his sleeves to reveal the track marks. "These are from the outside... But I..."

Shaking but patient, Harry waits for Louis to continue. There are dark bags beneath his eyes now as he reaches out to touch the marks again before he stops himself and rests his hands on his lap.

"I can't blame these on the outside because I... I did them to myself..." Louis admits. He closes his eyes for a moment and there's needles, clear liquid, and brown.  _The brown did this, but so did I._ "I'm afraid... I'm so afraid of myself..."

Finally, Harry wraps his hands around Louis' spindly wrists and closes his eyes too. The tension fades away from his face and when they both look at each other again, Harry appears drained, and more depressed. "You're good, Louis," he says. "You are someone who doesn't need to be afraid, someone who is good, and someone who can be better. You are someone who doesn't belong here," his face is pained now, alive but faded away all the same.

And Louis' heard those words somewhere before, seen the look on Harry's face. There's the memory of purchasing needles and thick brown liquid, but Harry doesn't seem to fit there, not the Harry who smiled so easily as he traced the spines of worn down books on Louis' shelf. However, the words do and that brings the nausea back to Louis' system before the grip on his wrists tightens and it's gone. 

Moments later, Harry vomits into the laundry basket again. His hands shake as he grasps at the plastic edges and his skin shines with a cold sweat.

"Who are you?" Louis quietly asks because he knows  _this_ Harry and  _those_ words. 

"I don't know..." Harry replies as he dry heaves. 

 _You don't because I don't,_ Louis thinks as he watches the boy. He refills the glass with water and sets it beside Harry.  _Because right now, you're not real._ The thought startles him just a little and he swallows hard.

Noticing Louis' distress, Harry holds out a hand to him. "C-Can't feel much worse than this..." he murmurs.

"I'm so sorry, Harry..." Louis tries as tears begin to slip over his cheeks again. He doesn't want to give this feeling up, he wants to understand the boy that's in front of him, he wants to know why those words and this boy mean anything at all to him.

Harry wretches once more and reaches out a hand for someone else, a strangled mumble falling from his lips, "I just need a little something to get back up... That'll fix this..." He addresses Louis after a moment, "You... You don't though... You really don't belong in a place like this..."

And Louis realizes that Harry isn't talking about being in his own basement, Harry isn't talking about this place at all. It feels like there are little flashes of light in his thoughts as he watches the other boy, flashes of a place that Louis only remembers in patches of color, dim and bright.  _Too bright,_ he thinks.  _Panic._ He had seen this boy somewhere in the last few months, he remembers feeling desperate,  _scared_. 

It had been some place downtown with loud music and big men with tattoos meant more to frighten than to express. It was a place Louis would have avoided by blocks before the incident but then... Then, he had been too out of his mind, too breathless to think much more than how he was going to drown himself next. He wasn't sure how he got inside, or how he got himself there in the first place, but there was pain,  _so much pain_. He remembers crying, heaving, and being unable to catch his breath. His heart had been pounding roughly against his ribcage like he had been running, but he doesn't think he could have been if he had tried. 

Someone ushered him into a backroom with a smile so wide that it only served to frighten him more. He remembers that girl only faintly, remembers her teeth, they were sharp and he had been afraid that she might try to swallow him whole if he refused her. There were others in the room, girls in loose clothing, and waif like boys smoking cigarettes. He had felt like he was drowning in the smoke, too blinded by pain and fear to move much further than the entrance. He needed to find someone, the man that could take the pain away but he couldn't and he was crying, so  _lost._  

" _You alright, mate?_ " a boy had approached Louis then. He had dark curls that were highlighted by the pink and blue neon lights around them tucked under a backwards royal blue snapback. Dark shadows underlined his eyes where the pale irises were mere slivers against the dark of his blown out pupils. 

At the time, Louis hadn't responded, had merely cried as the stranger ushered him over to a worn leather couch. He remembers coughing and wheezing, smelling smoke and something like lavender from the boy with the curls who sat beside him.

" _What's wrong?"_ the boy had questioned, his voice slow and lazy against the beat of the song playing through the speakers. 

" _I-It hurts..."_ Louis had confessed in a panic. He remembers thinking that maybe this was the man he was looking for, that maybe he could make it stop. " _I-I was shot..."_

A startled look crossed the boy's face and he looked young for a moment as he glanced over Louis' thinning frame. " _I don't see..."_ he had started. " _What's your name?"_ he continued after a moment. He didn't judge, didn't appear to want to poke holes in Louis' train of thought. He had  _distracted._

" _Louis... M-My name is Louis Tomlinson. I-I'm a uni student..._ " Louis had replied. He doesn't remember why he had thought to say those things, why he thought it was important to share that he was a university student when at the time he hadn't been to a class in months, wasn't sure if he would ever return. 

" _Well, let me tell you something,"_ the boy had gone on. He had said his name moments before, something with an  _H_ but Louis hadn't focused on it, had been too afraid of the flashing lights, the big men and the one's who were so thin, the wind just might blow them over. " _You're good, Louis. I can feel it. You are someone who doesn't need to be afraid, someone who is good, and someone who can be better. You are someone who doesn't belong here,_ " he had placed his hand on Louis' chest. A dazed smile played on his lips as he felt Louis' frantic pulse slow beneath his fingers. 

Louis remembers wondering what the boy meant, what the boy could possibly know about him because he was  _damaged_. He hadn't moved away though, hadn't pulled the boy's hand from his shirt.  _I wasn't afraid._

The boy used his other hand to reach out to a passing man, one that wore a heavy coat and looked healthier than any of the others there. When the man stopped, he murmured, " _I just need a little something to get back up..._ " The man looked at Louis curiously then, had waited for him to say what he wanted too, but the boy had pressed his hand a little firmer against Louis' heart. " _He doesn't need anything. You... You don't though..._ " he had insisted when Louis tried to protest. 

After the man handed a small baggie of white powder over to the boy, he wandered off to the men smoking too much. " _You really don't belong in a place like this..._ " the boy told him as he pushed up from the couch with a stagger. His eyes had been unfocused but sad as he smiled down at Louis. He was just a boy, younger than Louis himself, but he was lost maybe more so than Louis was. 

He remembers feeling calmer in the few moments after the boy had disappeared. He didn't see him again, and doesn't remember looking for him either as he sought out the man whom the boy had tried to keep him from. 

"Harry..." Louis murmurs as he shifts up to a sitting position. He doesn't remember lying down or the duvet being pulled up over him, but maybe he had dozed off, merely dreamed about meeting the boy in the smoke filled room.

There isn't anyone beside Louis and the floor is cold when he touches it. "Harry?" he tries again as he pushes up from the floor. He wanders around the basement checking beneath the stairs, behind the washer and dryer, and looking in any place that the boy might be able to hide. Harry isn't there though and the feeling that settles in Louis' chest isn't pain or fear, but  _worry._ Worry for the boy that he saw that night, worry because that boy might not have friends like his to try and help him. That boy might have friends who encourage him to let the dark swallow him whole, encourage him to give up because they tell him he's  _damaged_ too. 

 _That isn't true_ , Louis thinks as he paces the cement flooring.  _Harry, you're good._ His heart stutters beneath his fingertips as he places his hand on his chest and a painful thought occurs to him, _a_ _re you alive still, Harry?_

"Louis?" Liam's voice breaks through Louis' thoughts as the basement door opens. 

"I'm so sorry, Liam," Louis tells him genuinely and he stays still, doesn't rush toward the door for the fear that Liam might close it in his face. Tears well in his eyes because he means them and the ache in his chest isn't from wounds that have long since healed. "I'm so sorry..."

For a moment, Liam seems to hesitate before he lets go of the door and begins to descend the steps. As he reaches the bottom, he wraps his arms tightly around Louis. He doesn't say anything, doesn't voice his forgiveness, and he might not forgive Louis just yet but he's warm, stable in his hold. 

"Would you like a shower...?" Liam offers after a moment, his voice is a little hesitant but the offer is there. 

"Yeah... Yeah, that would be good," Louis nods before Liam leads him quietly up the stairs. Liam's hand is on the dip of his waist like he worries he's making a mistake. So, Louis keeps in Liam's reach and lets himself be moved along to the bathroom. He catches a glimpse of Niall and Zayn sitting in his living room but he doesn't call out, doesn't startle them. He showers quickly and cleans himself throughly with lavender body wash that he found beneath his sink so the memory of Harry might stay clear in his mind. 

When Louis gets out, there's a towel waiting for him on the sink counter and a clean pair of clothes. So, he dries himself off, fluffs his hair up with the towel, and dresses himself. Once he's finished, he searches out his toothbrush and scrubs his teeth to rid himself of the sour taste that sickness left behind. 

"Louis," Zayn acknowledges when Louis emerges from the bathroom to take a seat on the couch instead of the armchair. His expression is hard, distrusting, and for the first time Louis feels that it's right. 

"I..." Louis starts before pausing to haul in a breath. "I am a mess," he admits slowly.

The expression on Zayn's face shifts, softens into something more like sadness but hopeful all the same. "You need to get help," he says.

"I do," Louis agrees. "But, I..."

"No, Louis. You do. You have to," Zayn interrupts firmly. Disappointment blooms on his face as his eyebrows pinch together.

Holding up a hand weakly, Louis wills Zayn to listen, "I wanted to thank all of you first." He takes another deep breath, feels his nerves slowly fizzle out like they had so long ago when a boy who didn't know him put a hand over his heart. "If I... If I didn't have the three of you... I may not still be here. It may have been a little unorthodox that you all locked me in my basement for four days, but if you had given up on me like I wanted you to..." he swallows and thinks of Harry.

"Seven," Niall speaks up softly, his blue eyes don't quite meet Louis'. "It was seven days."

 _Seven_ , Louis thinks, but he isn't surprised or fearful of the time he lost. He hadn't been... He hadn't felt alone. 

"We, um," Liam starts before fiddling with his honey hair hesitantly. "We did some research and found some rehabilitation facilities that you could go to. There's a few around here and some back in Doncaster... We wanted to let you choose," he finishes before handing over a small stack of papers to Louis.

 _I'm not going back to Doncaster._ Louis shuffles through the papers and takes out the ones with his hometown before dropping them onto the floor. At the other boys' questioning looks, he hesitantly explains, "I... I don't want to go to Doncaster..." He doesn't say that because the last time he spoke to his mum, she only made his situation worse. "I want to get better before I see the girls..." it's not the whole truth, but it's not a lie either and he feels okay about it. He sifts through the other centers before he settles on one and holds it up so the other boys will see. Harry's withering face stays in the forefront of his mind as the other boys read over the one he's chosen. 

_You're good, Louis._

"This is the one you want? You think you can stick to their program?" Zayn questions. He isn't being condescending, but he seems worried and Louis can understand. 

There are a lot of things that Louis can see now that he missed days before when the boys stopped him from making another mistake. Liam's stubble has grown out a bit. Niall's hair has been shaved shorter on the sides and dyed back to his natural brown leaving the top a shock of blonde waves. Zayn's got a few new tattoos littering his arms.  _I've missed so much here,_ he thinks.  _I don't want to miss any more._ "I do..." he nods softly. "It's stricter and in-patient... I need that," he confesses. While the pain may have subsided, there is still an itch beneath his skin, a reminder of the habit that wasn't psychosomatic. 

"Let's... Let's get you packed, yeah?" Liam pushes up from his chair and leads Louis' back to his bedroom. 

The room is much cleaner than Louis might have remembered it to be because he certainly didn't clean it himself.  _You must have_ , he thinks as he watches Liam pull a duffle bag from his closet. His eyes linger on the window where he jammed nails in the sill when he returned from the hospital. It hadn't made him feel any safer, hadn't made a difference in the way his life snowballed. 

"Grab the shirts you want," Liam says suddenly, but it sounds like he might be repeating himself because his words are slower.

So, Louis moves forward and begins pulling his t-shirts and jumpers from their hangers in the closet. He hasn't worn most of them in months, and wonders if they're too large on him now. "Just pack the sweatpants and a few jeans..." he says with the thought. "Most of my jeans are probably too baggy... I don't have a belt."

Pausing, Liam appraises Louis for just a second before nodding his head and doing as Louis instructed. 

Once they're finished packing Louis' things, Liam carries the bag back to the living room and Louis holds his pillow tight to his chest.

Zayn's face is proud but still hesitant, and Niall looks sad. "Can we get breakfast before we take him?" Niall asks quietly.

Two of the boys look concerned, like they want to tell Niall  _no_ , but aren't quite sure how or if it's okay. "I... I would really like that," Louis finally admits, his eyes on Niall's face. "If that's okay?"

"Yeah," Zayn nods before pulling his car keys from his pocket. "Let's do that."

The four boys pile into Zayn's car and Louis curls into Niall's side in the back seat. The blonde doesn't move closer to him but doesn't move away either, and Louis thinks he might understand this.  _There are months between us, months of things I don't remember._

They eat on the patio of a café that's shaded by large oak trees with leaves so green. He thinks of Harry's face, wishes he could have found it in himself to tell Harry  _you're good too._ He listens quietly as the boys catch him up on what they've been doing the last couple months, about the people they've been dating. He learns that the job Niall has isn't the one he helped him get, that Niall's got an internship with a radio station. Liam's been seeing this girl with long dark hair and a pretty smile, he doesn't say that he wants to marry her, but Louis can see it in his face. Zayn's been selling his art and was recently picked to paint a mural at the university. He feels like he's been left behind a little, knows that going to a rehab center will mean being left a month further in the dust, but not going could mean missing so much more. 

As they discard of their trash, they climb back into the car and Zayn drives them to the facility.

When they reach the door, Niall is crying. "I feel like I've failed my best friend..." he quietly says as he sniffs into the edge of his scarf after Zayn and Liam have said their goodbye's. His cheeks are red with the feeling and even the tip of his nose flushes.

"Niall, no..." Louis rushes before wrapping his arms tightly around Niall. He buries his face in the crook of Niall's neck and doesn't let go. "That's as far from the truth as you can get..."

"I-I just didn't know how to help... I didn't... I'm so sorry, Lou," Niall whimpers against Louis' hair. 

Squeezing tighter before letting go, Louis shakes his head, "Look where you all have gotten me." He steps back toward the entrance doors and gestures up at the building behind him. "You did exactly what you needed to." He shares one last hug with each of the boys before heading into the facility.

_You're good, Louis._

When Louis gets out, he's going to find Harry. He's going to find the boy who tried to save his life when he was drowning himself. He's going to tell Harry  _you're good too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is a bit close to my heart for reasons that I think I will keep to myself for now. 
> 
> What's important is that there will be a PART TWO! 
> 
> Comment below and let me know what you think as a present to me or talk to me on my tumblr: thatkaitykid.tumblr.com !


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